


The Sword

by Yeziel_Moore



Series: Dancing With Angels [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, OOCness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeziel_Moore/pseuds/Yeziel_Moore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer fell, Michael disappeared and now Harry is being bothered by memories that are not his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sword

**Author's Note:**

> There is a discrepancy in the Harry Potter timeline. Harry received the sword when Fawkes arrived, I know this. I realized after I wrote it, but I like how it turned out so I'm not changing it.

  
**Disclaimer:** _I  don't and will never own Harry Potter or Supernatural.  
_ **Words:** _2878._

* * *

 

" _We did lose the Michael's sword. We truly couldn't find it. Until now you just hand-delivered it to us._

" _You are Michael's sword"_

" _I am a vessel?"_

" _You're THE Vessel. Michael's vessel."_

* * *

 " _Is that true? Is all that shit true? Answer me damnit!"_

" _It is. You are Michael's true vessel."_

" _What are you not telling me?" questioned Dean after a long and tense silence._

_More silence followed, but, for once, Dean waited almost patiently for the answer to come. On the sidelines Sam waited too, aware that the wrong word would make Cass disappear and who knows when the angel would come back then. Castiel wasn't looking at them, wasn't looking at anything really, his ancient eyes were lost in contemplation. About what they could only guess._

" _You are Michael's vessel, his sword, his weapon," he repeated, still not looking at them. "The problem..." he paused and turned, pinning them with those unfathomable eyes, "the problem is that nobody has seen Michael since The Fall."_

" _H-he fell?" Disbelief._

_Castiel eyes were full of uncertainty and pain when he answered in a pained voice. "We don't know."_

_And then he was gone._

* * *

 " _Father? I can't possibly... You_ _want_ _me to go there? A-alright then..."_

_The Garden was more than what words could describe, just... more, much more. It was marvellous, it was beautiful, it was luscious and full of life. It was Paradise, plain and simple. But somehow nothing was more interesting at that moment than the aged well in the middle of a crowded flower bed. That well was an extension of His awareness, of His self. It showed everything past, present and future, things that not even the most powerful of His children were privy to. The water inside was the clearest and purest substance to ever exist, and the most powerful. One drop could probably clean the entirety of the Earth or elevate a mortal into a God. Used wrongly it could probably blew an entire galaxy into nothingness._

_To even see the well was the highest honour as well as a first in the history of Heaven. Michael knew it. And he wanted nothing else but to get away from the too powerful and too pure substance. Even them, created from their Father's light, were dirty in comparison to Him. That was something that never ceased to humble and amaze Michael._

" _I have to look? But...! But it is... I can't Father! No, it's not that! It's just... I understand, I am sorry Father, I will do it."_

_The water moved, danced and jumped with a life of its own before settling again, only this time the stillness was unnatural and completely deliberate. It cleared and finally Michael saw._

_It was a human woman. With her fiery red hair and gem-like green eyes, flawless skin and bright smile she was beautiful, even by angelic standards. Her husband was handsome too, with dark-brown hair and hazel eyes that held a mischievous edge to them, his features were angular and regal, barely dampened by the glasses he had to wear. Between them was a baby, too perfect and too unearthly to be human even when it was obvious that he was. The baby had black hair, blacker than the Garden's earth, and green eyes just as striking as the woman's. His pearly white skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the vision. And then the baby did something unexpected, he looked up and right into Michael's own eyes. They looked at each other, green against green, until Michael broke the connection, shaken beyond anything he had felt before, with the exception of Lucifer's still too recent betrayal of course._

" _Am I being punished Father? Did I do wrong? Did I..."_

_For the first time Michael's strong voice faded in uncertainty. He didn't know what to feel, let alone what to say. He was the oldest, the wisest, the most powerful... but right then he felt small, insignificant even. He had only felt like this after he was created and before he had brothers to protect, teach and guide._

" _A lesson? For me? No? For all of us? I see..."_

_And he did. He understood now and he would do as his Father wished even if he was afraid, deadly afraid._

" _What will I learn?" He was curious but he received no answer. It would be one of those hard-earned lessons._

" _When am I leaving then Father?"_

" _Now?"_

" _Yes, sir!"_

* * *

 ' _I'm so screwed,'_  thought Harry in dismay.

His breath was laboured and he was sweating buckets after only five minutes of frantically dodging his foe, a thousand-years-old basilisk, while being practically blind thanks to the serpent lethal glare. His thoughts, pessimistic as they were, were no more than the truth, the pure and uncensored truth. How could he, a malnourished twelve years old kid, armed with nothing but a wand he could barely use and a sword he had no idea how to grip, much less wield effectively; how could he win when pitied against a sixty foot long, legendary and most certainly deadly creature with more tricks under its scales than he could hope to guess? The answer would be obvious even to Crabbe and Goyle: he couldn't.

That didn't mean that he would stop trying though. He was not one to give up, else he wouldn't have survived his childhood at the Dursley household.

The boy managed to catch a breath when Fawkes unexpectedly flashed into the Chamber in a burst of red and golden fire. The accompanying thrill of the phoenix song made Harry smile even in the dire circumstances he was trapped into, it made him feel as if the dreary Chamber was brighter somehow, as if his impossible task was not as impossible anymore. He knew it was merely a side effect of the beautiful sound and nothing else but nothing, not even his rationale, could burst the bubble of hope that had lodged itself in his chest, especially after noticing that Fawkes had blinded the basilisk, taking away one of its more deadly weapons: its eyes.

Well, that lifted his chances from zero to, what? One? One point five? Harry scoffed to himself self-deprecatingly, gripped the sword of Gryffindor tightly in his too small hands and prepared himself to run once more. He may be a Gryffindor but Harry was no idiot, he obviously couldn't win a straight fight against a foe like a basilisk, dumb luck just wouldn't cut it this time. That meant that he needed to be creative, he would need to transform his weaknesses into strength. But what were his weaknesses and where did his strengths, few as they were, laid? Well, he was small and physically weak, he didn't have much stamina either, which limited his time frame of action; he was fast and nimble, abilities that had already served him well while dodging his enemy a while ago. He had a sword but he didn't know how to use it... or did he?

Flashes of bloody battles, wings, the wind and beautiful but lethal dances with wicked swords winked in and out of existence in front of his eyes. He blinked and the Chamber came back onto focus. Confused and more than a little freaked out, Harry stored those thoughts in a corner of his mind. No matter what they were, they would get him killed if he got distracted by them.

Back to the present he concluded that his lack of significant power and his small stature were his worst weaknesses, the ones that were the most likely to get him killed. Well, he couldn't get powerful in the blink of an eye but if he was crafty about it, he could probably use his size to his favour. Most battles weren't about power anyway, but about waiting for or creating an opening in your enemy defences that could be exploited. And how did he know that anyway? He shook his head to dislodge that thought and took off in the direction where he came from.

Harry immediately noticed that the basilisk was hot on his heels, able to follow him by his scent alone. In the back of his mind he could hear Tom Riddle's gloating but he didn't deign the spectre with half a thought, his survival was more important than whatever nonsense the other was spewing. Harry made a point of zigzagging in between statues and whatever smallish space he could find while on his way to the sewers that served as an entrance. As he had seen when he came, the sewers were huge, but that was only the main system. From the main tunnel many smaller ones branched off, only to repeat the process again and again until you had a veritable maze made of pipes of all sizes, a maze where he would be able to lose the giant snake.

For some reason Harry had paid attention to the pipes on his way in, following some kind of instinct he had even explored a little bit.  _Mapping the terrain_ , a thought supplied much to his growing confusion. Since when did he knew about those things? No matter. The point was that he now had an idea of where to go, a perfect place to lay an ambush. But first he needed to lose his scent and his pursuer.

He continued running in circles, aware of his relentless enemy and of the fact that he was tiring fast and wouldn't be able to maintain this rhythm for much longer. Suddenly, he took a sharp corner to the left and fell though one of the smallest pipes, it connected to another one that was slightly bigger but still small enough that the basilisk would be unable to enter, thus giving the boy a few seconds to breathe. It had the added plus that it smelt terrible thanks to some disgusting and unnamed slime he preferred not to think too deeply about. It was thanks to the smell that he noticed this place the first time and now it was that minute acknowledgment that would save his life. There was no way that the blind basilisk would be able to follow his scent anymore as he didn't smell any different than the rest of the sewer.

He was so going to hog the bathroom for an entire day after all of this drama ended, taking turns and playing nice could be damned for all he cared!

After a minute he stood up on shaky limbs. He would've liked nothing more than resting for a week but time was of the essence and all that. He vaguely wondered from where all this cynicism and wit came from but, much like with other unexplainable matters, he shoved the thought away for latter perusal. Carefully and silently Harry crawled his way towards the spot he had marked earlier, ears strained in an attempt to pinpoint his enemy location. He stopped in front of a huge pipe that connected to his from underneath and continued upwards at an angle. If this worked as planned then the basilisk would came to this direction when he made noise but it would be unable to see or smell him so it would continue, if everything worked then the underbelly of the snake would be wide open for him to strike with the sword of Gryffindor.

He hoped and prayed for his plan to work as it was his only chance to succeed, not only in getting alive out of the Chamber but also in saving Ron's little sister. He couldn't fail. He took a deep breath and threw a stone down the pipe. He winced at the loud noises it made but otherwise kept himself still while he waited.

After what seemed like an eternity he heard the distinct sound of something moving against a flat surface, in this case a giant snake against the curved surface of the pipes. It came from under him. Moving excruciatingly slow Harry grabbed a pebble, aimed carefully and threw it upwards, towards a different pipe a little way over the one he was in. Then he watched, fascinated, as the big-ass snake stopped all movement for a second, before retreating until its humongous head was in line with the pipe Harry was facing. Harry gulped, his throat dry all of sudden and his heart hammering so loudly in his ears that he was afraid the basilisk would be able to hear it. He gripped the hilt of the sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white but, somehow, the cool and hard metal managed to sooth his fear, as if only by having a sword with him everything was made right in the world; a strange sort of calm washed over him, clearing his mind, and allowing him to concentrate on the perfect timing he needed. It wouldn't do to strike the tail of the basilisk after all.

Finally, his patience paid off. With quick reflexes honed by Quidditch, and a steady hand and aim that he wasn't aware that he had, he buried the blade of the sword to the hilt in the exact place where the heart was, the momentum the basilisk had gained only aided him, making the blow all the more deadly. The giant snake trashed and hissed, almost dislodging him from his place and forcing him to release the sword least he fell to his death. Harry watched the last moments of life of the magnificent creature with wide and pitying eyes but he didn't regret his actions. It was thanks to those actions that he was alive and well enough to go back to the Chamber to recue Ginny from Voldemort's memory.

Very carefully Harry climbed down using the dead basilisk as a makeshift stairwell. Grunting with the effort he managed to free Gryffindor's sword, he grimaced at the blood covered blade but didn't react otherwise. The rest of the descent was even more difficult and almost impossible, it was only Harry small stature and nimbleness that allowed him to weave his way through the coils of the carcass. As if that wasn't difficult enough, he also had to avoid all the strange substances leaking from the snake. Harry didn't know what basilisk venom looked like but he knew that even skin contact with it was lethal and he hadn't survived until now just to die from a moment of carelessness.

Harry managed to land safely but the sword wasn't as fortunate. It had slipped from the boy's dirty hands and somehow it landed exactly in the growing puddle where all those rather disgusting substances were pooling. Harry wanted to bash his head against the hard surface of the pipe. With a weary sigh, the preteen levitated the sword and watched, astonished, the way the deadly weapon absorbed the mysterious liquids that coated it, a second later it pulsated with a dark green and golden light before simply returning to normal.

Somehow Harry just knew that the sword of Gryffindor was more dangerous than ever.

* * *

Finding the Chamber again, destroying the blasted diary and saving Ginny had been kid's play compared to surviving the basilisk attacks. None of that really bothered Harry too much. He did it because that's what he came all the way to the Chamber for and that was it. It wasn't like Riddle was even alive, like Professor Quirrell had been when Harry's touch had burned him into nothingness. So no, 'killing' the memory didn't bother him.

What was bothering him then?

As Harry contemplated the gleaming sword he had, oh so conveniently, 'forgotten' inside the Chamber he found his answer, or part of it. Because, for a moment down there, Harry had known how to correctly wield a sword, the best way to grip it and how to angle the trust in order to obtain the best results. He had  _known_. But he was pretty sure he would've remembered the fact that he apparently had knowledge on swordsmanship. And considering the fact that he had never even  _seen_  a sword before the whole Chamber thing it was utterly impossible.

So why? And how? How did he know all that? How did he know the best way to take on a bigger and more powerful enemy? How could he possibly have known where the heart of the basilisk had been located? He had never seen a dissected snake before!

And why, why did he suddenly want to knee on the floor and send a prayer of thanks? Not that it was a terrible effort, but he had never given two bits about God, so why now? Why did his chest constrict every time he so much as caught a glance at the sky? And why, for Merlin's sake, was the name Michael so damn familiar.

Harry groaned and buried his head fell on the fluffy pillow, hoping that his headache would recede.

Nothing made any sense anymore!

* * *

Somewhere, in an unidentified location, God chuckled in amusement.

"Soon, my son, the lesson will be learned and understanding will come to you," He said to nobody in particular.

Still, in his bed, Harry Potter relaxed and fell into a deeper and relaxing sleep.


End file.
